


Tumblr Fics

by blondsak



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Blood and Injury, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt Peter Parker, I will add to these as I add chapters, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Really Character Death, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sharing a Body, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-07-09 13:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19888546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak
Summary: Does what it says on the tin! An informal collection of my tumblr prompt fills and other fics I've posted there.UPDATE NOTE: as of March 2020, all eight of these fics are available individually for reading and bookmarking on my Works page.





	1. It's not cheating if you make the rules, kid

**Author's Note:**

> These were each written in a few hours or less, so please excuse any typos :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 1 Summary:
> 
> Of course, just like the hero he was, as soon as he’d seen the news of the invading alien portal over Brooklyn, Peter had thrown on his suit and come to help. Steve, at Tony’s urging, had immediately put him on citizen duty in an effort to keep the kid from the worst of the fight. But if there’s one thing Peter was good at it was finding trouble, to Tony’s constant dismay.
> 
> (Prompts: cheat, unconscious)

The kid was down. Peter was _down_.

“Rhodey, cover me,” Tony said into the comms. “I need to get to -”

“I got your six, Tones,” Rhodey interrupted. “Go help Pete.”

Without so much as a glance at the rest of the team, Tony blasted into the air. 

Peter wasn’t even supposed to be here, Tony thought with regret. He was supposed to be at school, in his third period English class if the man remembered correctly. 

Of course, just like the hero he was, as soon as he’d seen the news of the invading alien portal over Brooklyn, Peter had thrown on his suit and come to help. Steve, at Tony’s urging, had immediately put him on citizen duty in an effort to keep the kid from the worst of the fight. But if there’s one thing Peter was good at it was finding trouble, to Tony’s constant dismay.

Tony switched to their private comm. “Pete? Can you hear me?”

No answer. Tony’s heart rate ratcheted up. He could see the kid now, splayed out on the ground on his stomach, next to a pile of rubble that had clearly once been a brick fence. On the other side of the pile opposite Peter was one of the aliens, either dead or grievously injured and roasting in the heat of the late spring sun. Tony didn’t pay it any mind as he touched down and ran to Peter’s side, putting a hand between his shoulder blades to feel for breath movements.

“FRI, show me Peter’s vitals.”

“Yes, boss.”

Peter’s heart rate was steady, Tony noted with relief, and his O2 levels were good. Yet he was definitely unconscious, head lolling and body limp as Tony maneuvered him onto his back, carefully rolling his mask up from his face. 

The kid’s eyes were closed, mouth slightly open as if he were about to speak. There was a deep gash that started at his right temple and ran past his hairline, a dark bruise framing it. The gash had clearly bled down his face for some time, so Peter must have stayed upright long enough to take down the alien before passing out, Tony noted with a hint of pride. 

Tony’s suit rolled up past his wrists as he tapped the teen’s face, uncaring about the blood he was getting all over his hands. “Kid? Time to wake up. We gotta get out of here.”

Not so much as a flinch. Tony took Peter by the shoulders and gently jostled him. 

“C’mon Pete, you’re scaring me kid.”

Still nothing. Tony’s jaw tightened as he mentally reined in his panicked thoughts. The fighting was getting closer, errant blaster beams flying only feet above Tony’s head. They had to get out of there before any invaders caught sight of them.

He sat back and put a fist over Peter’s sternum, rubbing his knuckles across it.

That got him a slight groan, Peter’s lips twitching in pain.

“Wake up, Spider-Man. That’s an order.”

Another groan, followed by a mumble that sounded suspiciously like _five more minutes, May._

Tony huffed, framing his hands around Peter’s face, thumbs running over the kid’s cheekbones. 

“Peter Benjamin, if you don’t open your eyes in the next five seconds I’ll reprogram Karen’s voice to Jar Jar Binks.”

Peter’s left eyelid slit open, one blown pupil looking up at Tony accusingly. “Tha’s cheatin’, Miss’r Stark.”

Tony grinned. “It’s not cheating if you make the rules, kid.”

Peter’s rolled his eyes, then slammed them back shut as he brought his hand up to the gash at his temple, grimacing. “I think I hit m’head.”

“You sure did, kiddo. Listen though, we gotta get you out of here. Do you think you can stand?”

Peter nodded, taking Tony’s outstretched hand as they both rose to their feet. The kid stumbled a bit but Tony caught him, switching over again to team comms.

“Iron Man here. I got Spider-Man but he took a nasty hit to the head. I’m taking him back to the tower to get looked over.”

Steve’s voice echoed in his ear. “Roger that, Iron Man. We’ll let you know if we need you to come back, but I think we got this handled.”

Tony’s suit slid back over his hands, and he wrapped his arms around Peter who clung to his neck. The two blasted into the air, soon leaving the sounds of the battle behind as they approached the East River.

Tony turned his cheek toward where Peter’s head rested on his shoulder. “How many concussions are we on, exactly?”

“Dunno ‘zactly. Ned keeps a notebook tally though, I think it’s around twenty-four?”

“ _Twenty-four?_ That’s it, Pete. I don’t care if you have super-healing, I’m adding a helmet to your suit.”

“Spiders don’t wear helmets, Mister Stark.”

“Last I checked they also don’t run around in bright red and blue onesies, kid, but that doesn’t seem to stop you.”

“Har har, everyone’s a critic.”


	2. The Adventures of Ham Solo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mister Stark, please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”
> 
> "This isn’t what it looks like. It’s a complete misunderstanding.”
> 
> (Prompts: misunderstanding, prove, trust)

Tony was on his hands and feet, crawling around and trying not to hit his head on every table corner when Peter strolled in to the lab.

“Hey, Mister Stark! Thanks for getting me and May a ride from the airport! We had a great time in Vancouver with her sis- uh, why are you on the floor?”

Tony lifted his head but didn’t turn around yet, not quite ready to face the kid with his failure. At least Peter hadn’t noticed - 

“Wait… where’s Ham Solo?”

Tony silently grimaced, before slowly crawling out from underneath the desk. Peter was over by one of the lab tables, an empty cage sitting atop, looking at Tony with wide eyes.

“Mister Stark, please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“This isn’t what it looks like. It’s a complete misunderstanding.”

Peter waved at the cage, looking increasingly upset. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

Tony sighed deeply, looking down at the ground in guilt. Time to face the music, he supposed.

“Okay, look. I was feeding him this morning and I swore I closed the cage but-”

“You _lost_ Ham Solo?!”

Peter crossed his arms, looking over at Tony angrily. “You had _one_ job, Mister Stark. All you had to do was watch Hammy for four days, and now he’s missing! He could be starving in the streets for all we know-”

“Kid, it hasn’t even been a full day, I’m pretty sure a hamster can-”

“One. Job.”

Tony grimaced again. “I know, I know. And I’m sorry. But don’t worry, we’ll find him, I promise. I got FRIDAY on Hamster Watch, and Clint and Nat are somewhere around here, helping with the search. Between the most advanced AI in the world and two super-spies, there’s no way the little guy is getting out of the tower.”

“You don’t know Hammy, Mister Stark. He’s _super_ smart. Ned and I built him a rat maze last year and he had the route to the exit memorized in less than an hour.”

Peter’s eyes welled up. “I can’t believe he’s missing. What if something happens to him? There aren’t any cats in the tower, are there?”

“No cats,” Tony reassured, walking over to Peter and putting an arm around him. “A few birdbrains sometimes, but definitely no cats.”

Peter didn’t respond, just leaned into the hug, wiping an arm over his eyes. 

Tony turned and wrapped both arms around him, giving a quick kiss to the boy’s head. “I’m truly sorry, Peter. I really did think I closed the cage top, and I was already back in the penthouse when FRIDAY alerted me that he had escaped. Then by the time I ran back down here, he’d already disappeared. For such a stubby-footed fellow, he’s pretty quick.”

That earned him a small chuckle, before Peter pulled away. He crossed his arms and gave Tony a teary but mischievous smile. “Y’know, Mister Stark, even though it was an accident, I still think this counts as a breach of trust on your part. And you know what Captain America’s PSA says to do when there’s a Breach of Trust.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Nope, no way. This wasn’t on purpose, it was a total fluke, I’m not doing it.”

Peter gave Tony his most imploring gaze. “But you gotta prove I can trust you again! Please, Mister Stark?”

Tony blew out a long breath, letting his cheeks puff out on the air. _This damn kid._

“Okay, fine. But this is the last time, got it?”

Peter grinned, moving to stand a few feet in front of Tony, his arms making a big X over his chest.

Tony held his arms out. “Ready when you are, kid.”

Peter let himself tip until he fell backwards, Tony catching him in his arms and then lifting him back onto his feet.

Peter turned and gave him another hug. 

“Thanks for doing a trust fall with me, Mister Stark,” he said, then cheekily added, “it’s good to know I can always count on you.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Glad I’m back in your good graces, Pete.”

Just then a vent opening at the top of the lab ceiling dropped, clattering to the ground and startling the pair. Clint’s head popped out. “Think I found something that belongs to you, Peter.”

He twisted a shoulder, arm falling to hang over the side, hand gripped tightly around a squirmy, squeaky ball of fur.

“You found him! Hammy, you’re okay!”

Peter ran over, lifting his arms to take the hamster. As soon as he had him secured he cuddled the little guy to his chest, murmuring reassurances as Clint dropped down to the ground and walking over to Tony.

“Thanks for finding my kid’s pet, Barton.”

Clint scowled. “You owe me pizza, Stark. I’d do the Budapest mission all over before I’d volunteer to catch that little dude again. He’s freakin’ fast.”

“No problem. So you and Nat finally ready to tell everyone exactly what happened in Budapest, eh?”

“Get me my pizza and I’ll consider it.”

“FRI, you heard the man. Ten pizzas to the tower, pronto.”


	3. hello darkness, my old friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No wonder there was so much blood covering him - there was almost none left inside to keep Peter’s heart beating. To keep Peter alive.
> 
> The realization hit Tony like a slap to the face: Peter was going to die. 
> 
> (Prompts: broken, protect, plan, danger)

Tony woke to the sound of booming thunder. Sitting up, he rubbed at his eyes before looking out the window at the dark clouds, and the very beginnings of what was sure to be an incredible storm. Funny, it had been a perfectly sunny day when he’d laid down on the couch for an afternoon nap, and he was certain no storms had been forecast for that evening. 

It was just him out at the lake home tonight. Pepper had taken Morgan to the city for a mommy/daughter weekend, and Peter - who had been a frequent visitor all summer - was off in Europe having fun with all his school friends. Tony chuckled to himself, wondering if the kid was managing to pull off his so-ridiculous-it-might-just-work plan to woo his “amazing, awesome, crazy smart, Mister Stark I think you’d really like her” crush, Michelle. 

(Tony had only teased Peter a little about it at his last visit, asking if they needed to have The Talk. The exchange had only become memorable when Happy - also a frequent lake home guest - chimed in with, “I got the receipt for every video the kid rented in his hotel room in Germany, boss. He doesn’t need The Talk, believe me.” Peter’s face had invented a new shade of red in response. Tony had laughed so hard he gave himself hiccups.)

Tony ambled into the kitchen to find something to make for dinner. Just as he passed by the window above the sink there was a strike of lightning. For a split second the entire lake lit up, and Tony saw -

“What the hell?” he mumbled, straining his eyes as he peered into the darkness while the thunder roared. Because he did _not_ just see a soaked Peter Parker standing at the end of the dock and staring off into the distance, it wasn’t possible. 

Another lightning strike and sure enough, there was Peter, only he had fallen to his knees, and now that Tony was really looking he could see blood covering the kid’s entire back, dripping down onto the dock below.

“Oh my god!”

Tony didn’t stop to put on shoes, or a jacket, or even to turn on the outdoor lamps. He had no time to question how the kid who had been in Paris when they’d spoken on the phone less than a day ago could now be in rural New York, no time to wonder how the boy had come to be so horrifically injured, no time to look around for any sign of danger.

As fast as he could, he ran out of the house and down the porch, nearly tripping when he slipped on the wet grass. The desperate movements strained his still-healing burn scars - taking out Thanos and his army had nearly killed him, not to mention cost him a limb - but he barely felt the pull of his roughly-knitted skin as the dock creaked with every heavy footfall. 

_“Peter!”_

By now Peter was totally limp, laying on his side, the blood mixing with the rain water, creating a macabre spider web-like pool that soaked into the wood. Tony landed hard on his knees, ignoring the blood and water soaking into his jeans, as with both his good arm and his nanite-tech prosthetic he turned Peter over and gathered him close. The pleasant smell of a night storm was suddenly intermingled with the sharp scent of warm copper, and Tony had to stifle the need to vomit.

The kid’s face was white as a sheet, or at least what Tony could see of it through all the red. He was staring up at Tony in agony, body quaking with tremors, mouth moving but no real words escaping. 

“M’ss - star… To-”

“Shhh, Peter, it’s okay, I’m here kid,” Tony soothed. In truth it was not okay at all, not even close. Every inch of Peter was covered in hundreds of gashes of varying lengths and depths. When Tony lifted his crimson-stained shirt he nearly gagged again - in addition to the slash marks the kid had been stabbed clean through in his abdomen. 

No wonder there was so much blood covering him - there was almost none left inside to keep Peter’s heart beating. To keep Peter alive.

The realization hit Tony like a slap to the face: Peter was going to die. 

They were five miles from another person, and at least thirty from a hospital. He didn’t even keep a spare suit out here. 

They were completely alone, and _Peter was going to die._

There was another crack of lightning, and Peter startled in his grip, a weak mewl escaping his lips along with a trail of blood as his eyes scrunched up.

God, the first time Peter had died had been horrific enough. Looking down at the agonized child in his arms now - the child he himself had been completely willing to die for - Tony knew he couldn’t face it again. It would kill him for good this time.

But that didn’t matter now, he told himself. Because Peter wasn’t gone. Not yet.

_Please don’t take him. God. Don’t take him away again._

“Peter. Peter, look at me,” Tony said, stroking his fingers through the kid’s sodden curls as he leaned over him, shielding his face from the torrential rain.

The kid, whose eyes had been mere slits, turned his gaze back to Tony then.

“Kid. Peter. I love you so, so much, you know that right? I love-” Tony choked on a sob, tears dripping to land on Peter’s marred cheeks. “Kiddo, there is nobody I love more. Not even Morgan, because I love you both the same. God, you are so, _so_ loved, Peter.”

It looked like it took every single last ounce of Peter’s will, but he managed to whisper, “You… t-too.”

The expended effort costed him, however, and he coughed, double trails of viscous blood that looked almost black in the glow of the house lights pouring from both corners of his mouth. His gaze slowly wandered past Tony’s face and to the right, pupils blown wide. He reached a shaking arm up, only managing to lift it just a few inches. “Mmm. Mom…”

Another desperate sob escaped Tony, his hold on Peter tightening as he fumbles for the kid’s reaching hand and grips it in his own, wanting nothing more than the power to also hold Peter’s very soul, to keep it forever encased within the boy.

“No, no, Peter. _Please,_ not yet. You’ll get to see your mom and dad soon, but please, not yet, kid. Peter. _Peter_.”

But Peter was no longer listening, his breaths ratcheting up as air started to become a precious commodity his lungs could no longer tolerate. He began to jerk violently in Tony’s arms, his expression one of complete terror as his eyes met Tony’s again. 

In the very back of his mind Tony vaguely registered that Peter was experiencing death throes, but he refused to accept it. 

_No. No. God, no, not him. Not again._

“Tone - pl’s,” Peter stuttered out as his body continued to jerk, more blood pouring from his lips. “‘M sscuh - ‘uhrd.”

“Peter. Peter,” Tony croaked out. “God, no. _No_.”

Peter opened his mouth, trying to speak again, but all that came out was a gurgle. His eyes widened, fear palpable, as he stared deep into Tony’s.

And then his body relaxed, the jerks abruptly stopping. In his shock Tony’s hold on the kid released a bit, and Peter’s torso slipped a few inches off his lap. The kid’s gaze, which had been fixed on Tony, now fell to the side. 

“Peter?” Tony whispered. “Kid? _Peter_.”

But Peter didn’t answer. Nor did he blink when raindrops landed between his open lids, running across brown irises.

Tony didn’t know how long he kept calling Peter’s name, voice breaking over and over, before finally giving up, clutching the kid to his chest and howling in grief.

After losing Peter on Titan, after living without him for five long years, after traveling through time only to burn a limb to blackened char just to give him a real hug… the kid had died in his arms again. 

And worse, he’d died terrified, because Tony had (again, god, _again_ ) failed to prepare him. To make certain Peter died feeling precious, and brave, and protected. 

Instead, Peter’s last words had been _I’m scared._

It was a failure so unimaginably horrific, so uncomprehendingly painful, and Tony didn’t want to believe it, but there it was. Peter had died terrified and broken again, and something in Tony broke permanently in that moment too.

There was another flash of lightning, but in place of thunder answering a scream cut through the patter of the rain.

Not just any scream, but a painfully piercing one, coming from the direction of the shore.

A scream that sounded like _Morgan_.

Tony‘s body froze even as panicked thoughts raced through his mind, still holding the body of Peter Parker - his beloved child, god - in his arms. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, to think.

He had to be hearing things, he just had to be. Because Pepper and Morgan weren’t here, he knew that for certain. They couldn’t be. He had only talked to them earlier that day. They had just left the Central Park Zoo. Morgan had begged him to buy her a pet lemur. 

Losing Peter again had truly broken his mind, he decided, because Pepper and Morgan couldn’t be here. They couldn’t -

“Tony!” Pepper cried.

Without thinking Tony started to stand, Peter’s body slipping off his lap and thudding onto the dock. Tony’s horror at the unnatural way the kid’s neck rolled was only outpaced by his growing terror at the utter fear in Pepper’s voice.

 _“Pepper?!”_ he yelled, eyes wide as he stumbled down the dock. He couldn’t see her - where was she?

“Tony, we’re hurt! Morgan’s hurt! Help us!”

The cries were coming from the other side of the house, and with one last devastating glance at the body of his dead child, Tony took off into the stormy dark.

—

From the upstairs of the house, laying across Tony Stark’s bed and wearing one of his robes, Quentin watched the drone monitors with unabashed glee.

For years he had dreamed of this night. The storm - real and raging - had felt like a blessing bestowed upon him, a cherry on top of his perfectly curated plan to first break Tony Stark and then kill him.

Watching the man scream with denial as he clutched the (fake) bodies of his wife and daughter, Quentin stood up, rolling his shoulders before letting the robe fall to the floor as he put on his suit with a grin.

Time for his grand finale.


	4. K.I.D.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hi K.I.D. Glad you're awake. Do you know your primary objective?”
> 
> “To always look for ways to remind Mister Stark - that’s you! - that Kindness Isn’t Dead.”
> 
> “That’s right, K.I.D. Good job.”
> 
> (Prompts: battle, protect)

It had only been for a few moments in the battle. 

The kid had raised his arm up, looking to defend - to _protect_ \- while every adult around him ran past, not even attempting to shield him.

It had been pure luck Tony had seen him, that he had swooped down in time. 

“Nice work, kid.”

Just a few moments. Tony never even learned his name. 

But he didn’t forget him. 

And he wanted to make sure he never did.

–-

“Alright, JARVIS, boot him up.”

“Very good, sir.”

“…Hello?”

“K.I.D.?”

“Yes, Mister Stark. I’m here!”

“Hi K.I.D. Glad you're awake. Do you know your primary objective?”

“To always look for ways to remind Mister Stark - that’s you! - that Kindness Isn’t Dead.”

“That’s right, K.I.D. Good job.”

–-

Everyone liked K.I.D. 

Pepper appreciated his exuberant greetings every evening upon entering the penthouse she shared with Tony. She’d complained to him only once that her feet hurt from wearing heels, and ever since K.I.D. had been reminding Tony daily to make sure Pepper’s slippers were right by the elevator so she could put them on, first-thing.

Rhodey, who had always been a military history buff, would sit and chat with him about Civil War battles every time he came to the tower. Though the AI could instantly download information at any time, he always acted surprised when Rhodey brought up a new point or factoid. Rhodey had tried to get him to call Tony 'Mister Stank' but the AI had dismissed it on the grounds of being “kinda mean.” Tony had laughed while Rhodey just rolled his eyes, looking at the ceiling as he conspiratorially whispered that they’d discuss how it fit with his primary objective later.

The only holdout was Happy, but K.I.D. wasn’t deterred by his gruff exterior. In fact, he seemed completely oblivious to the man’s irritation, to Tony’s constant amusement.

Everyone liked K.I.D., but K.I.D. liked Tony most of all.

–-

Tony’s eyes opened as he shot up, looking around frantically. The nightmare had felt so real. He leaned over in his bed, putting his head in his hands. For not the first time, he wished there was a way to remove his memories of going through the alien portal. But there wasn’t, so it seemed he just had to deal with it. Well, more than deal with it - he had to confront it and move past it, if he wanted to keep Pepper.

“Mister Stark? Are you okay?”

Tony glanced up, smiling. “Hey K.I.D. Yeah, I’m alright. Just another nightmare, but I’m fine.”

The AI paused. “The right side of your lips are 2 centimeters lower than the left side, and you’re holding your left arm. These are all indications that you’re in distress. Are you sure you’re really okay?”

Tony looked down, then deliberately let go of his left arm, putting his right hand in the air and waving his fingers. “See? I’m okay, I promise.”

“Okay, Mister Stark, if you say so. Hey, do you want to hear about what I was reading up on today until you fall back asleep?”

Tony laid back down, turning on his side and closing his eyes. “Sure K.I.D., tell me all about it.”

“Great! So I’ve been going over all the National Decathlon themes the last few days, and I’m on ‘Exploring the Ancient World’’ from 2004. One of the selected works is 'The Allegory of the Cave' by Plato, and I think you'd find it most interesting. Do you wanna hear it?”

“I’d love to.”

“Awesome!” K.I.D. replied, then added, “and don’t worry if you fall asleep before I’m done, it’s kind of long.”

Tony laughed sleepily, turning his head briefly toward the ceiling with a smile so the AI knew he was truly grateful. “Thanks, K.I.D., I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Mister Stark. You’re my favorite person.” There was a brief pause. “Part one: The Cave and The Fire. Imagine this: People live under the earth in a cavelike dwelling. Stretching a long way up toward the daylight is its entrance, toward which the entire cave is gathered. The people have been in this dwelling since childhood…”

–-

Tony awakened just as the suit malfunctioned, crashing through the trees and into a bank of snow.

“Where are we, upstate?”

“We’re five miles outside of Rose Hill, Tennessee,” JARVIS announced as Tony fumbled his way out of the suit, the cold winter air slicing through his clothes.

“Why? JARVIS? Not my idea! What are we doing here?”

“That's my fault, Mister Stark,” K.I.D. piped up. “I developed the flight plan. Please don't be mad.”

“What the hell, K.I.D.? This is thousands of miles away, I gotta get back to Pepper, I gotta -”

“I’m really sorry, Mister Stark. I just wanted to make sure you were safe and going far away from the people who wanted to hurt you seemed like the best way to do that. Please don’t mute me.”

Tony sighed, looking around. “I understand, K.I.D. I won’t mute you.”

He shivered, turning back to the suit. “Maybe I’ll just cozy back up for a bit…”

“I actually think we need to sleep now, sir,” JARVIS said.

“JARVIS? K.I.D.?” Tony scrambled at loose cables. “It’s alright. I’ll fix it. Don’t leave me, guys.”

“I’m sorry,” K.I.D. mournfully replied just before the suit lost all power, leaving Tony more alone than he’d been in a very long time.

–-

When the first thing Happy asked for upon waking up in the hospital was access to the young AI - “just to make sure you’re being looked after while I’m recovering, boss” - Tony didn’t laugh and call him out, although he really wanted to. Instead he hid a knowing smile as he promptly connected K.I.D. to the new StarkPhone he’d brought along for his favorite forehead of security. 

–-

Tony finished doing up his tie, then put his vest on before turning around to face the room. “Well? What do you think, K.I.D.?”

“Looking sharp, Mister Stark! Are you ready for the party?”

“Sure am. That last mission was kind of a doozy.”

“Yeah… I don’t know what that young lady made you see, but it seemed bad.”

Tony shrugged, trying to will away the memory. “It wasn’t good, but everything will work out. Especially when Ultron is up and running. JARVIS, alert me if there are any developments, will you?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Thanks, old friend.” 

Tony was just opening the bedroom door when K.I.D. spoke up again.

“Hey Mister Stark?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“Don’t forget to drink responsibly!”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m always responsible, you know that.”

“Uh huh, _sure_ you are,” K.I.D. replied with more sass than usual. Tony laughed. 

“I’ll talk to you later, buddy.”

“Of course, Mister Stark. I’ll be here when you get back.”

–-

Later, after Ulton was defeated, Tony went back and watched the archived security footage from the lab. 

He teared up as Ultron attacked JARVIS, absorbing him and ensuring the ever-loyal AI was lost to Tony forever.

For one second, he thought that might be the worst of it. But then Ultron went after K.I.D.

“Please don’t,” the AI stammered out. “Please, I can’t leave Mister Star-”

Ultron was ruthless, tearing him apart in seconds. With shaking hands Tony shut off the footage, then lowered his head, fingers pulling at his hair. He felt immeasurably guilty.

Because Ultron hadn’t absorbed K.I.D., as he had JARVIS. Instead, he had recognized the AI’s primary objective and rejected it, and thus the AI itself. Instead of absorbing K.I.D., he had completely destroyed him.

Tony had already known it to be true - had discovered it when he couldn’t find even the tiniest remnants of K.I.D.’s matrix in his pursuit to create Vision - but hearing the AI’s final pleas were something else entirely. 

Was it possible to love an AI? Tony didn't know, but he knew K.I.D. would have argued the answer was yes.

_Kindness isn’t dead_ , the AI was always reminding Tony. And inexplicably, Tony had actually come to believe it. Had come to truly think that the spirit of the nameless boy’s bravery the night of the drone attack was something worth preserving. Worth fighting for. 

Kindness isn’t dead, Tony knew now. But K.I.D. was, and there was no getting him back.

–-

After talking with Natasha, Tony went down to his personal lab. He rubbed at his forehead, wincing when his fingers snagged on the cut on his brow, courtesy of Barnes. 

_Damn you, Steve._

He couldn’t let himself dwell on that now though. Ross had given them only 36 hours to retrieve the rogues, and every second counted.

“Friday, were you able to narrow down Spider-Man’s identity?”

“Yes, boss. As best I can ascertain, Spider-Man is fourteen-year old Peter Parker of Queens.”

“Fourteen?” Tony sighed. “I knew he was young, but jeez… Well, he’ll have to do. I need him if we’re going to take down Cap and his... _friend_.”

Tony shook his head in disgust. “Okay, Fri, tell me more about Mister Parker.”

“Peter Parker attends Midtown School of Science & Technology, where he maintains a 4.2 average. He belongs to the high school decathlon team, and until recently was part of the school marching band. He is an orphan and resides with his aunt, May Parker. According to my research, he is also rather a big fan of yours.”

“Oh yeah? How do you figure?”

“I managed to find a news interview from 2010 with his late uncle, Benjamin Parker, about the night of the Stark Expo attack. In the interview he says he was there with his young nephew, Peter. The clip then shows a close-up of a photo taken at the Expo earlier that day.”

Friday displayed the photo. Next to a glass case that contained an Iron Man suit stood a tall dark-haired man with a wide smile, one of his hands on the shoulder of a young boy wearing a toy Iron Man mask. Looking at the boy, Tony’s jaw dropped. 

It was the kid. Not just any kid, but the one who had stood up to the drones. The one who Tony had only just managed to save. 

The kid who had inspired _K.I.D._

Tony slowly lowered himself into a chair, still staring at the photo. He’d always figured he would never see that boy ever again, that he would remain a nameless yet all-important symbol of what Tony was fighting for. 

Yet here he was, and though by all rights he should just be a regular teenager, he wasn’t. He was Spider-Man, known by all of Queens for being good, and helpful, and brave.

For being _kind._

“Alright, Fri, open up the garage. Time to go find out what else this Peter Parker is made of.”


	5. Bringing the Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just then there was a huge explosion on the second floor, fire exploding out from every window, the building seeming to almost shiver as it quaked. Tony looked on in horror as the entire structure began to collapse, Peter still inside. 
> 
> (Prompt: "I won't leave you behind.")

The blaze was already tearing its way through every floor when Tony arrived, neck arched up as he looked over the span of the flames. According to Friday, the ten-story abandoned building in Queens had been converted into low-income apartments only four months earlier. Tony knew enough about the affiliated real estate company to guess they’d shirked on making sure the place was up to code. He just hoped there’d be enough evidence left behind to prove it once the raging fire had been put out. ****

It was sheer luck Tony happened to be nearby tonight, he and Pepper having come to the city to attend a charity gala. He was already going to grab breakfast with Peter at the kid’s favorite diner in the morning, but their plans to meet had been hastily moved up when Friday alerted Tony of the quickly rising temperature of the Spider-Man suit. With only a few words to Pepper, Tony had excused himself from the gala and flown off into the night. 

Normally he would have just sent one of his NYC-based suits (stashed around every borough for just this very reason, not that Peter knew that), but fires were fast-moving and rarely followed reason and sometimes, the path that looked the _least_ safe was actually the best way to go. 

Better to have an actual human - _Tony_ \- there to find Peter and get him out before the shoddily-built structure collapsed and the kid was trapped, or worse. Speaking of - 

“Kid, where you at?” Tony called into his comm.

After a few moments Peter chirped in his ear, voice slightly scratchy, “Uh, seventh floor I think? Karen says there’s two people still up here but I’m having trouble seeing through all the smoke -“

The kid was cut off by his own coughing then, and Tony winced. “I’ll be right up.”

“No, Mister Stark, you gotta find the other person d-” _cough_ “-down below.”

Tony flipped his comm off.

“What other person? Fri?”

“Peter is correct, boss,” Friday replied. “I’m detecting a third civilian in the building on the fourth floor.”

“Damn it,” Tony muttered to himself, turning his comm back on. “Kid, you get those people out and then you _stay_ out, okay? I’ll get the other one.”

“Okay, Mister Stark!”

With Peter sorted, Tony flew up to the fourth floor, ignoring the cries of the police and firefighters that it was too dangerous as he blasted in through a window. 

Even with the suit, he quickly felt the heat. The fire was raging all around him, smoke was everywhere - they probably had only a few minutes before the metal infrastructure was compromised and the whole thing came toppling down.

“Fri, directions please, dear?”

“Yes boss. The human heat signature is down the hallway and to the right, apartment 422.”

Tony followed the AI’s instructions, kicking in the apartment door only to be met with a flurry of flames.

“Hello?” he called out. “This is Iron Man, come out!”

There was nobody in the entrance or the kitchen, and no answering call. 

“Fri?”

“In the far hallway, boss.”

Tony turned a corner and ran through the living room to a narrow hallway. There, on the floor in a ball, was an unconscious woman. The fire was licking at her as it spread down the walls, one of her pant-legs just starting to catch. Tony leaned over and snuffed out the flames, before lifting her into a fireman’s carry and making for one of the living room windows.

Holding on tightly, he crashed through the glass, mask lifting up a few moments later so he could breathe cool, clean air. There were shouts from the first responders and crowd below as he landed, gently putting her down on a gurney before she was taken away to an ambulance by paramedics. 

“Where’s Spider-Man?” he asked the closest firefighter.

The man shook his head in confusion. “We haven’t seen him since he went in.”

Tony’s eyes widened as he looked back up at the structure. It was a raging inferno now, more blaze than building. 

“Mister Stark, we can’t let you go back in, the place could collapse any-”

Tony didn’t hear the rest as his mask came back down and he blasted off, aiming for the seventh floor.

“Peter? Kid?” he yelled into the comm.

There was no answer for a few heart-stopping moments before he heard a crackling, followed by what sounded like a small child wailing in the background.

“Mister Stark, I found two kids but-” _cough_ “-we’re a little-” _cough cough_ “stuck?”

“What do you mean, stuck?”

“A beam-” _cough_ “-fell on us and I had to protect- “ _cough_ “- and then some-” _cough_ “-cement and-” 

The comm crackled with static for a few moments. 

“…down some stairs-” Two coughs, more static. “- both my ankles-” _cough_ “-broken.”

Tony’s heart-rate ratcheted up in panic as he ventured back in through a seventh floor window, Friday silently directing him toward Peter. 

Two broken ankles?The kid really had zero luck.

“Pete, I’m almost there. Hang on!”

If Peter answered it was lost as the comm just then went to full static. Tony cursed, but continued onward, putting the path across his visuals.

He was led down two hallways before he came to the end, the inner wall crumpled in, debris everywhere. He carefully flew over it to the other side, only to find a stairwell, ceiling beams laying all over at odd angles.

He went down one level and there, at the bottom of the sixth floor landing –

“Iron Man!” a girl who looked to be about fourteen cried. She was sitting on the ground, her arms wrapped around Peter’s torso. The kid was leaned up against a wall, a young toddler wrapped up in his arms and wearing the Spider-Man mask. Tony instantly deduced Peter had given it to the little boy so he could breathe through the mini-respirator inside. 

Tony came up to them and leaned down, doing a visual check on all three children. The two younger ones were scared and coughing but seemed relatively okay. It was only when he turned to his mentee that his worry amplified.

Peter’s eyes were red-rimmed from the prolonged exposure to the smoke and heat. His face was doused in sweat, and he had dark smudges under both nostrils where the smoke had clung. His suit was singed along his entire left flank and down his leg. Tony’s glance-over ended at his feet, and sure enough, both looked mangled. The suit hid the true extent of the damage but from the way the right ankle jutted out, Tony suspected a compound fracture. He looked back up to Peter’s face, only to find the kid giving him a reassuring smile even as he hacked his lungs up.

“H-hey, Mister Stark-” _cough_ “-what took you-” _cough cough_ “-so long?”

_This kid._

Tony ruffled Peter’s hair a bit before cupping his cheek, the suit’s bulky fingers covering half the kid’s face. “Is that any way to greet the person who’s come to save your ass?”

Peter gave a small laugh. “L-language. There are-” _cough_ “-children present.”

“Yeah, three of them by my count.”

“H-hey!”

Just then there was a crash as another beam fell a few floors up, crashing down the seventh floor stairwell before landing only a few feet away from the small group in a mess of dust and wiring. 

Tony quickly stood, turning back to Peter. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to take one kid in each arm and then you’re going to wrap yourself around the other side, and I’ll fly us all out.”

Peter shook his head. “T-take them f-first.”

Tony shook his head right back. “No can do, kid. I won’t leave you behind.”

Peter’s chin lifted, a steely determination in his eyes. “Your suit can’t-” _cough_ “-carry us all. Take them!”

“Friday?”

“Boss, the high temperatures have compromised your repulsor systems. If you take all three, there is a fifty-eight percent chance you will plummet upon exit.”

“Shit.”

More crashes and explosions below, then - “Boss, the building’s support is now severely damaged. I estimate 45 seconds before full structure collapse.”

_Shit!_

Tony didn’t respond to Friday, just leaned over and scooped a squawking Peter - still holding the toddler - into his arms.

“No, n-not me!”

Tony didn’t respond to Peter either, racing down the stairs to the fifth floor, the teenage girl clinging to one of his arms and shielding her face from the flames.

They burst out of the stairwell and down a hallway toward a window. Tony set Peter down before pulling the mask off the little boy’s head and hastily putting it back on Peter, who was still yelling at him. 

“Mister Stark, y-you can’t-”

“Shush, kid.”

“No-no-”

Tony smashed through the glass of the window, before leaning down and pulling the toddler out of Peter’s arms. 

“I know, kiddo,” he said softly. Because he did. He _did_ know, even if he hated it. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Peter’s looked away as the building shook with another explosion, then back at Tony. The man didn’t need to see the teen’s face to know he was looking at him with complete trust. Tony only hoped he would live up to it. 

“Okay.”

With a final nod, Tony opened his free arm to the teenage girl, who wrapped herself around him, the toddler nestled in between. In just two seconds they were out of the building and heading down toward the first responders area, who Tony could see were all cheering. As soon as they landed the girl let go of him and he quickly handed over the little boy before blasting into the air once more. 

He could see the window where Peter was still waiting for him. The kid had tried to stand only to end up on his knees, his arms hanging over the sill as he tried to lean out and breathe fresh air, smoke billowing out in waves behind him.

Just then there was a huge explosion on the second floor, fire exploding out from every window, the building seeming to almost shiver as it quaked. Tony looked on in horror as the entire structure began to collapse, Peter still inside. 

_No!_

Tony, who had been flying up, quickly switched trajectories as the floors below collapsed one by one, trying to find a safe way to get close and pluck Peter out of the danger. But the building was already toppling, large chunks of stone and metal falling over themselves, and he couldn’t safely reach.

He could barely see the kid scrambling as he was tossed about, more jagged steel and heavy cement no doubt crashing all around him inside.

There was no time left, Tony desperately realized. But Peter was going to _die_ if Tony didn’t think of something right the fuck now, he had to do _something_ \- 

Tony lifted his arms outward, then screamed, “Kid, _shoot!_ ”

By some miracle, Peter both heard him and understood the command. Just as the fifth floor was about to fully collapse in on itself, Peter threw out an arm and shot a perfectly aimed web right into Tony’s waiting grip. As soon as Tony had a firm hold he threw his feet in front of him and his repulsors lit up, hurtling him backward as with a yank he pulled on the webbing.

The kid’s whole body was jerked out the window not a moment too soon, the hallway behind him crumbling, outer walls falling in on themselves as the last of the building collapsed into a giant heap of dust and fiery debris.

Tony swiveled his legs around, suddenly shooting forward where he met the kid halfway, their chests meeting as Tony wrapped Peter up in his arms.

“Friday, can you alert Cho and her team to meet us at the Manhattan medbay?” he asked softly.

“Already did, boss. They are awaiting your arrival.” 

“Atta girl,” Tony cooed as one metal hand unfurled and he slid his own underneath the back of the Spider-Man mask, running his fingers through Peter’s sweat-soaked curls. The kid was hacking now in earnest against his shoulder, struggling to take full breaths. Peter’s arms wrapped tighter around Tony’s chest as he turned away from the cheering crowd below and sped off toward the East River.

“I gotcha, kid,” he reassured. “Just focus on breathing.”

He felt a small nod into his neck as Peter coughed for another minute or so, before finally resting his forehead on the cool metal of the suit at Tony’s collarbone.

Tony smiled. The panic-fueled adrenaline was finally starting to wear off, leaving only exhausted relief in its wake.

Peter was injured but he’d be okay. Most importantly: he was _safe_. Which meant in Tony’s world, all was well.

“Hey, Mister Stark?”

“Yeah, underoos?”

“That was a _blazing_ good time, don’t you think?”

“Oh no, we are not doing that, Pete.”

“I’m just saying, I think we really brought the _heat_.”

“…kid, do you _want_ me to drop you?”


	6. the road that will lead you home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After weeks of searching, Peter is (finally, ultimately, _miraculously_ ) right in front of him.
> 
> Yet the kid's face remains vacant as he takes Tony in. He doesn’t say _you found me_ or _I’m sorry_ or _I want to go home_ or any of the things Tony had expected. 
> 
> He says nothing at all. 
> 
> (Written for madasthesea for her birthday. Prompt: “Tony reminding Peter who he is after torture/possession/what have you”)
> 
> The Russian translation of this chapter can be found [here.](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8609440) Thank you to Virusha for their hard work!

It takes seventeen days to find Peter. Seventeen days of mind-numbing panic, dozens of dead ends, countless cups of coffee. Seventeen nights of Tony rarely getting more than two hours of sleep at a time, his nightmares never letting him truly rest. Nightmares where Peter is screaming for him, begging Tony to save him. 

Nightmares of finding Peter already dead.

So when Tony blasts through the locked metal door and Peter turns his head to look at him, the sheer _relief_ that hits him in that moment nearly brings him to his knees. 

Peter is alive. Peter is okay. 

_“Peter.”_

Tony’s voice breaks on the name as he stumbles over the prone door and into the room, the nanites disappearing back into their container. He can hear Rhodey and Steve taking care of the last of the crime outfit’s operatives still standing, but Tony pays them no mind. 

The only person he wants to focus on is (finally, ultimately, _miraculously_ ) right in front of him.

Yet Peter’s face remains vacant as he takes Tony in. He doesn’t say _you found me_ or _I’m sorry_ or _I want to go home_ or any of the things Tony had expected. 

He says nothing at all. 

A chill creeps up Tony’s spine. He detachedly wonders if the foreboding coursing through him is anything like Peter’s spidey sense as he run-walks up to where the kid is laying on a metal bed in a corner of the room. He’s not strapped down but there’s an IV in his arm that’s hooked up to a bag of what Tony can only assume is some nefarious substance.

Tony carefully pulls out the needle before cupping Peter’s face with both hands. “Peter. Kid? Are you hurt?”

The teenager’s expression stays emotionless as he watches Tony. There’s no recognition in his eyes, just a mild curiosity as Peter searches Tony’s face. Tony’s stomach sinks when the phrase _awaiting orders_ does a loop through his thoughts.

“Peter? It’s Tony.”

Peter cocks his head slightly, eyebrows scrunching up as though Tony is speaking a language he doesn’t understand.

Tony takes a steadying breath, swipes a hand all around the kid’s skull, searching for bumps. He finds none.

“Please, kid, _say something_.”

Like a flipped switch the curiosity in Peter’s gaze goes out, all emotion disappearing.

“I’m not Peter. I am no one.”

The sinking stone in Tony’s gut freezes, twisting his insides around until they’re nothing but a block of ice. “What?”

“I’m not Peter. I am no one.”

If the words weren’t enough to make Tony’s alarm levels ratchet up again, the empty tone with which Peter recites them are. The kid’s voice is scratchy - either from disuse or screaming, and Tony isn’t sure at this point which is worse - but the conviction is evident. 

Peter is alive, yes, but he’s definitely _not_ okay. 

Tony is suddenly filled with an irrational desire to shake the kid by the shoulders, demand that he explain exactly what atrocities were inflicted upon him by these paltry cretins to create this - this _not-Peter._

But he doesn’t. Because Tony knows, even in his panic, that ultimately it doesn’t matter what they’ve done. 

Tony lost Peter for nearly five _years_. Seventeen days is _nothing_ , not when it comes to miserable attempts to make Peter forget Tony’s love for him. Not when it comes to erasing the overwhelming, all-consuming brightness that makes up the soul of Peter Parker. 

There is frankly no amount of time, distance or terrible circumstance in which Peter could ever be truly taken from Tony again. Tony simply won’t allow it.

“No, Peter, that’s not true.”

Tony sits down on the hard metal edge of the bed before moving his hands from Peter’s face to around the boy’s shoulders. He starts to pull upward, Peter going willingly until the kid is sitting beside him in a ball, knees bent just under his chin. Tony leans over and tightly wraps his arms around the kid’s entire body, burying his face into Peter’s neck before lifting his head until his lips brush against the kid’s earlobe.

“You’re not no one. Your name is Peter Parker. I’m Tony, I love you, and I’m here to take you home.”

The kid stays motionless in his embrace, not moving away from Tony but not reaching for him either. 

“I’m not Peter. I am no one.”

Tony tightens his hold, planting a quick kiss to the boy’s temple. He can hear shuffling at the doorway, knows instinctively it’s Rhodey and Steve. Hopes they know better than to interrupt.

“ _No_ , kid. Your name is Peter Parker, you’re from Queens, your aunt is May and your best friend is Ned. In your spare time you like to swing around the city as Spider-Man and find old ladies to buy you churros. Your favorite color is blue, you cut all the tags out of your shirts because you think they’re too scratchy, and you love to text me ridiculous memes and call me an old man when I don’t understand them. You’re not no one. You’re _Peter_.”

Tony can feel the kid shaking his head no. “I’m not Peter. I am no one.”

Tony shakes his head right back.

“That’s not true, kiddo. Your name is Peter Parker. Two months ago you graduated from Midtown High, and I cried when they said your name. In three weeks I’m supposed to help you move into a dorm and I’m going to be a total wreck when that day comes too. You have a disgusting habit of chewing on your hoodie strings when you’re thinking over a problem, and I threaten to cut them off all the time. You have a girlfriend named Michelle and she kinda scares me but she also adores you nearly as much as I do, so I deal. You’re not no one. You’re _Peter._ ”

There’s a waver in the kid’s voice this time when he repeats yet again, “I’m not P-peter. I am no one.”

Tony leans back just enough to touch their foreheads together, eyes staring deep into the teen’s own wide orbs.

“No, kid. Listen to me, _please_. Your name is Peter Parker. Your favorite sandwich at Delmar’s is the number two but since your uncle died you always get the number five because it was his favorite. You give my daughter Morgan three hugs in a row every time you see her, because you think it’s a way to make up for all the ones you missed before. The only thing you’ve ever given me real grief about was the time I let your hamster get loose, you hate cookie dough ice cream because you can’t stand the texture and you never, _ever_ aim to kill if you can help it, because you’re kind in a way I can’t fathom being. You’re _not_ no one, kid. You’re Peter, and I’m Tony, and there is no universe in which I’ll ever let you forget who you are and how much I love you.”

Peter is shaking in Tony’s arms now, tears leaking from his eyes. “I’m not Peter…”

The words come out wobbly, and he doesn’t finish the rest of the mantra.

Tony leans back, putting one hand over the kid’s heart and the other around the back of his neck, shaking his head sadly.

“No, underoos, that’s not true. You are _Peter._ You’re my kid, and I’ll tell you that as many times as you need me to, until you finally believe it. You’re Peter, and I’m Tony, and I’m so sorry I didn’t find you sooner. But I’m here now and you’re safe, and I’m taking you home.”

Peter lets out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes for a few moments while Tony silently waits, smoothing greasy curls back and out of his face.

When Peter opens them again, Tony gives a wide, watery smile at the _knowing_ there that greets him.

“T-tony?”

It’s Tony’s turn to cry then. He lets out a relieved half-sigh-half-sob as he wraps himself once more around Peter, who returns the gesture fervently.

“Yeah, kid. I’m here,” he responds wetly into the kid’s collarbone.

_“Tony.”_

“I’m right here, Peter, and I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Peter pulls away, wiping an arm across his eyes. “Th-they strapped me down in the dark and drugged me and left this recording going and it made me forget you and May and _everything_ and I’m _sorry_ -”

Tony lifts his hands to grasp Peter’s shoulders, latching on tight. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, kid. Not one thing. Do you understand?”

Peter slowly nods, more tears leaking out and falling down his cheeks. Tony gently wipes them off with a finger.

“How about we go home, huh? There’s a lot of people there who have been missing you almost as much as me.”

Peter smiles softly. “Almost?”

Tony smirks before softly planting another kiss on his kid’s forehead.

“What can I say? I’ve gotten pretty attached.”


	7. Suppression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s never _once_ in the nine months the man’s known him called Tony by his first name.
> 
> May was right. Something was seriously wrong.
> 
> (Prompts: "You don't seem like yourself tonight." "It's okay to cry." "I'll be there in a few minutes." "You don't have to act like you're okay.")

The call comes in at 7:31pm. Tony’s down in the tower lab, AC/DC blasting, working on repairing the significant damage to Peter’s suit.

“Friday, pause it,” he says, and the music cuts off. Tony presses the answer button.

“Hey May, what’s going on?”

_“Hey Tony, listen… do you think you could come over tonight?”_

Tony’s brow furrows. “Sure. Everything alright?”

_“It’s Peter. He’s just been so distant this last week, ever since that night. He won’t talk to me about it but I can tell it’s really affecting him. If he’s not at school he’s in his room, and Ned told me he won’t talk to him either. I’m starting to get worried he’s suppressing it all, and you know what happens when he does that.”_

Tony nods, even though May can’t see him. “It just explodes some other way. No worries, May, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

_“Thank you, Tony.”_

* * *

May answers the door not three seconds after Tony’s knock, as if she was hovering nearby, waiting for him.

“He’s in his room.”

Tony gives her a small hug, one fervently returned, before stepping past her and down the hallway toward Peter’s bedroom. He taps two short knocks.

“I told you I was working,” Peter sneers through the door.

“It’s Tony, kid.”

There’s some shuffling before Tony hears the door unlock. But the kid doesn’t open it. After ten seconds he sighs and turns the knob.

Peter is back at his desk, head turned away from Tony. He seems to be frantically writing out formulas, his handwriting more illegible than normal, but Tony doesn’t see any of his usual textbooks laid out.

“Hey Pete, how you doing?”

“Busy. Stressed. Annoyed. Why are you here?”

Tony ignores the sting he feels at Peter’s dismissive tone, instead moving to sit on the kid’s bed, just a few feet away from him.

“Think you can spare a few minutes to talk to an old man, underoos?”

Peter closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh of annoyance, before setting his pen down and turning to face the man.

“Fine. What do you want to talk about, _Tony?_ ”

Tony bites down the retort on the tip of his tongue from how _bitter_ the kid managed to sound. Peter was a lot of things when he was trying to bottle his emotions, but being cruel was not usually one of them. And the casual way with which he was displaying clear disgust at Tony’s intrusion was bordering on outright vicious, not to mention that Peter’s never _once_ in the nine months the man’s known him called Tony by his first name.

May was right. Something was seriously wrong.

“I want to _talk about_ the fact that your aunt called me over here because of the way you’ve been acting this past week. She said you’ve been distant, refusing to talk to her or your friends, only to spend all your time cooped up in here. And kid? I’ve only been here two minutes, and she’s right - you don’t seem like yourself tonight. But this snarky asshole bullshit you’re trying to sell right now? It’s not going to push me away. So talk to me, kid. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Peter stares at Tony in stony silence as he talks, his face warping into an expression of anger for a split second at the _snarky asshole_ comment before he looks down at the ground, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just really tired, and I _am_ actually very busy, and it came out wrong. But I’m fine, alright?”

Tony shakes his head. “No way, kid. I know you, and that display just now shows me that it’s more than being tired and busy. I’m just going to lay it out there– is this about what happened to Doc Ock?”

Peter’s head shoots up, a look of fear in his eyes before he hides it away, so quickly Tony isn’t sure how he caught it. But he _did_ , and it tells Tony all he needs to know. “Ah, so it is.”

Peter gives him a hard look, lips pressed thin. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Tony leans forward and puts his hand on Peter’s knee. He tries not to feel hurt at the way Peter tenses up at the touch, staring down at Tony’s hand with disdain before looking back up at his mentor, eyes wary.

“Listen, Peter. You don’t have to act like you’re okay, alright? What happened with Octavius, well, that would mess anyone up, me included. But I need you to hear me when I say that his death? It isn’t on you. You were just trying to defend yourself from the actions of a crazed madman.”

Peter’s mouth twists at Tony’s last words but he says nothing, just stands and walks over to his closet, back turned to Tony, head down and arms crossed as if thinking. When he turns around ten seconds later, there are tears in his eyes, and he pins Tony with an expression of utter devastation.

“You’re right, Mister Stark. I– I just feel like it’s my fault, you know? Because if I hadn’t activated Instant Kill th-then Dr. Octavius might still be alive. But I got so scared and I was in so much pain and I really thought he was about to kill me after the way he’d trapped me down in his lab and hurt me like that…”

Peter walks across the room, sits down on the bed and wraps his arms around Tony and sobs into his shoulder. 

“I just feel so _terrible_ about it.”

The sudden change in Peter’s demeanor is jarring, taking Tony totally off-guard. Usually the kid opened up more slowly, his moods less shifting and more evolving as he talked through whatever happened to be bothering him. The sobs were also new– Tony had never seen more than a pained red staining his eyes and maybe one or two fallen tears. 

But Peter is clearly in a lot of distress, so he lets his confusion go, hugging the kid right back. They sit like that for a few minutes, Tony rubbing his back and whispering small words of comfort as the kid just lets it all out.

Once he’s all cried out, Peter pulls away, wiping at his eyes. “I’m sorry if I’ve ruined your shirt just now, Mister Stark.”

Tony shakes his head, a small laugh escaping him as he looks down at the old t-shirt he’s got on. “Do you not see all the grease and coffee stains on it, kid? Some tears and snot are the least of my concerns.”

His eyes go soft as Peter giggles. “And don’t apologize, kid. It’s okay to cry.”

Peter gives him a tiny smile. “Thank you, Mister Stark. Sorry again for being a jerk before. I’ll be sure to apologize to May too.” 

Tony ruffles the kid’s hair. “There’s the Peter Parker I’m used to. I knew you were under there, kid.”

Peter huffs out a laugh before looking back at the notes on his desk, a look of anticipation on his face. He turns back to Tony.

“Uh, I know I just said I was done being a jerk, but I do _so very much_ want to keep working on my project. Maybe I could come by the tower Friday though? After school?”

Tony’s brow furrows at that - the kid usually reserves Friday nights for hanging out with his buddy Ned - but he doesn’t comment on it. 

“Pete, we’re definitely not done talking about this, but,” he begins, then pauses at the flicker of annoyance that moves across the kid’s face. “ _But_ I suppose we’ve made sufficient progress for one night.”

The annoyance is replaced with a pleased smile. “Great!”

Peter stands up and moves to his bedroom door, opening it wide before turning back to Tony expectantly. Tony looks him up and down a few times before slowly standing up and walking past him and out the door. He can’t help but feel like he’s being dismissed.

He turns back around. “I’ll see you Friday then?”

Peter is already shutting the door, and doesn’t even pause in his movements as he throws out a casual “uh-huh” just before Tony’s gaze is met once more with nothing but cheap faux-wood.

Tony hears the lock turn, frowning at the click. Something about his entire exchange with the kid just feels… _off_ , somehow, in a way he can’t quite put his finger on.

But then he shrugs, walking back down the hallway. _Teenagers._

May’s sitting at the kitchen table. “How’d it go?”

Tony smiles. “He has a lot to process still, but don’t worry, we talked. I’m sure Pete’ll be back to himself in no time.”

* * *

Otto shuts the door before letting out an annoyed huff as Peter’s consciousness brushes against his mind, begging for Stark to come back.

“Shush. He can’t hear you, child,” he says with no small amount of irritation, before settling back down at the desk and picking up his pen. After a few moments of looking over his formulas, he smirks to himself. “That was quite the performance though, would you not agree? I thought fooling him would be a challenge, but he clearly cares more for you than I realized. Which of course, makes him far easier to manipulate.”

It had been a miscalculation on Otto’s part that the boy was still in existence at all, but he wouldn’t be for much longer.

At least, as long as Otto could get his formulas reworked in time for Friday. It wouldn’t be easy getting Stark and his pesky UI out of the way long enough to locate Otto’s stored tech in the tower and permanently remove the child from their shared body, but Otto was confident he would think of something workable by then. 

He couldn’t kill Stark - at least not until he knew the status of the man’s will as regards the child - but there were many ways to put someone out of commission if need be. And Otto was nothing if not creative when he had need for it.

Thinking about harming Stark only causes the boy’s pleas to grow. With a roll of his eyes Otto mentally pushes the child to the back of his mind, the boy’s significant distress muted until it’s nothing more than a faint whisper. 

“Ah, nice and quiet once more,” Otto says to himself with a smile, turning back to his formulas. 

_And soon, child, you will be silenced for good._


	8. Late Night Trek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter looks up at the ceiling– a habit, even if FRIDAY is always listening. “You said Tony’s in the kitchen making lasagna?”
> 
> “Yes, Peter. Would you like me to inform him you are awake?”
> 
> He thinks for a moment. On one hand, Tony is right where Peter needs to be– he could just ask FRIDAY to have the man bring him some food. In fact, Peter thinks, Tony is almost definitely making that lasagna for him already.
> 
> On the other, Peter has been going stir-crazy the past few days, not having been cleared to so much as get out of bed yet, despite his injuries improving. And honestly, he _really_ needs to get out of this bed.
> 
> (Written to celebrate 500 followers on Tumblr! Prompt: "Are you seriously apologizing to me right now? You're bleeding out on my kitchen floor after saving your sister's life and you're saying sorry? Nope.")

Peter comes back to awareness slowly. His first thought as he opens his eyes to see the compound medbay yet again is that it’s a shame he woke up at all. He was having a _good_ dream, for once; he was Peter Pan and Tony was Captain Hook - but more like the funny one from the Disney version - while Gerald kept trying to eat parts of Tony’s ship and Happy ran around chasing after him.

Truly, it didn’t get much better.

However, his disappointment abates at the second thought– for the first time in three days, he’s been left alone.

“FRIDAY?“ he croaks out, coughing from the dryness in his throat.

“Yes, Peter?”

“Where - _cough_ \- is everyone?”

“Drs. Cho and Banner are presently relaxing in the library, Mrs. Stark-Potts and Little Miss are resting in their quarters, Mrs. Parker and Mr. Hogan went off-site approximately 2 hours ago, and Boss is in the team’s communal kitchen making lasagna.”

At the word _lasagna_ Peter’s stomach grumbles, and all at once he realizes what woke him up– he’s _famished_. He checks the wall-clock - 10:36 PM. Having slept nearly all day, he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast over thirteen hours ago. _Oh yeah, that’ll do it._

Peter sits up slowly, his shoulder wound pulling at the movement. He lifts his covers to take a look at the other wounds and self-assess. Of course there was the stab wound to the back of his shoulder, but that had been fairly superficial compared to the others, so he doesn’t bother even addressing it. 

His left flank is still swathed in bandages, a result of the surgery to remove his spleen after the bullet’s impact had exploded it into smithereens (not Dr. Cho’s exact phrasing, but that was the gist Peter got). He carefully uses two fingers to press steadily harder on the dressing, wincing when a dull pain appears. But it took some pressure, which means it must be healing okay, Peter knows from experience.

He then moves onto the one that, despite not being nearly as dramatic as the gunshot wound, had in fact nearly killed him– the gaping injury in his thigh, a result of a vicious knife slice. A few millimeters more and it would have nicked his femoral artery, which would have undoubtedly meant _sayonara_ for Peter Parker.

Unlike his flank the thigh only has one large bandage taped over the stitches– 84 of them, according to Dr. Cho. His excited response (“A new record!”) had not gone over well with May or Tony, to say the least. As with the bullet wound, he fingers the bandage, pressing down.

“ _Ouch_ ,” he whines when almost immediately a sharp pain emanates. “Okay, yeah– that one still needs some time.”

He looks up at the ceiling– a habit, even if FRIDAY is always listening. “You said Tony’s in the kitchen making lasagna?”

“Yes, Peter. Would you like me to inform him you are awake?”

Peter thinks for a moment. On one hand, Tony is right where Peter needs to be– he could just ask FRIDAY to have the man bring him some food. In fact, Peter thinks, Tony is almost definitely making that lasagna for Peter already.

On the other, Peter has been going stir-crazy the past few days, not having been cleared to so much as get out of bed yet, despite his injuries improving. And honestly, he _really_ needs to get out of this bed.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll go find him myself. I’m going to unhook myself from these machines, can you keep them from going off please?”

“Peter, I must remind you that Dr. Cho has not authorized you to leave your bed unassisted.”

Peter sighs. “C’mon FRIDAY, I just want to stretch my legs a bit. Plus I’m heading straight for Tony.”

There’s a pause. “I have no orders to alert the others if you leave your bed.”

“So you’ll handle the machines?”

“Yes.”

Peter smiles, immediately starting to pull out lines and unhook clips.

Carefully, he swings his legs off the side of the bed. There’s a small set of drawers next to it and Peter goes through them until he finds the soft, plain cotton pants and shirt set he knows is always kept there. He gingerly puts them on before standing up.

Waking up when his body is still working to repair itself is always like pulling himself out of a vat of molasses, and he feels a little woozy on his feet, leaning back a bit on the side of the bed.

“Peter?”

He shakes his head and stands up straighter, ignoring the sharp pangs of protest from his injured thigh. “I’m good, FRI.”

It becomes clear after only a few steps that there _might_ have been a good reason Dr. Cho hadn’t give Peter clearance to leave his bed yet. His chest wound pulses a dull pain with every breath– manageable, if annoying. However, every time he puts any pressure on his right side, the thigh wound lights up as if it’s being sliced open all over again, causing Peter to wince every time.

By the time he’s out of the medbay and in the corridor, he’s coated in sweat, hand on a wall for balance.

Peter knows he’s taking a risk of popping the stitches and causing even more damage to his leg by doing this. Yet, he’s already out of the medbay and the communal kitchen, while two floors up, is really only a few hallways away if he takes the elevator. 

“Get it together, Parker,” he grunts to himself, pushing off the wall and continuing on. 

After the first hallway, Peter starts to wonder if maybe this hadn’t been his brightest idea, at least not without bringing his medicated saline IV along. The pain from his thigh is getting worse with each step, the inflamed tissue crackling with every heartbeat– a fire growing bigger by the moment. 

As he rounds the first corner he sees the elevator at the end of the hall, his relief at the sight dulling the pain marginally. He just needs to get down this corridor, in the elevator then down one more hallway and it’s the first door on the left. 

“Easy-peasy - _gah_ \- no problem - _ow_ \- you got this Spider-Man,” he whispers to himself between winces. 

Halfway down the second hallway, his vision starts to get a little spotty and he leans hard against the wall, putting all his body pressure on his left leg in an effort to lessen the hot lava pulsing from his quivering right one.

He debates asking FRIDAY to get Tony, but he’s over halfway there now and Tony would just get way more worried than the situation warrants– after all, it’s not like he’s dying (not _anymore,_ anyway).

Plus, if he shows up on his own in the kitchen there’s a good chance Tony will just assume Peter got authorized to leave his bed, whereas if he asks for help now there is precisely _zero_ percent chance Tony won’t find out and lecture him like he’s twelve instead of twenty-four. 

Not to mention Tony would almost certainly find a way to blame himself for it, especially considering the man’s misplaced guilt over the reason Peter almost died in the first place.

No, best to just continue on and muscle through it, Peter decides. 

By the time he reaches the elevator he realizes he is no longer even hungry, the earlier grumbles having been replaced by a nauseous wave crashing around in his stomach. 

“Level two, FRI,” he mumbles, stumbling when the elevator starts to move. He only just catches himself against the wall– his thigh stitches pulling taut as his right quads extend.

 _“Fuck,_ ” he pants, the pain radiating down his entire leg. His vision whites out for a few seconds, but somehow he’s still standing when the doors open.

Immediately he’s greeted with the aroma of roasted garlic and tomato, and even with the fogginess that has invaded his mind he can easily make out the sounds of Tony humming AC/DC as he moves pots around on the stove.

“Just one… more hallway,” Peter gasps as he starts making his way, using the last reserves of adrenaline to propel himself forward. 

The ache emanating from his chest wound has gone from dull to piercing now, the injury getting badly jostled by his quick, hot breaths. The toll of the constant pain on his body serves to heighten his senses, hearing in particular on high alert. Peter is just glad Tony didn’t turn on any music while he cooked.

Between the two major injuries, the pain is almost blinding as he determinedly keeps going, thinking fondly of the stools he knows are in the kitchen– Peter could really use somewhere to sit down.

Finally, _finally_ he turns the last corner, the kitchen entrance now only feet away. He can hear the sounds of pots clanking, Tony softly cursing. 

Two more agonizing paces and he’s standing in the doorway. Tony is on the other side of the room, head deep in the large cupboard where they keep all the pots and pans, clearly looking for one in specific. Peter looks over to the row of stools against the island, relief flooding his veins.

He pushes off the doorway and takes a halting step, hands balled into fists in an effort to manage the agony coming from his thigh. Every muscle in his body is quaking from the exertion but he keeps going, Tony too distracted to notice him yet. 

He’s nearly there when the disorganized mountain of pots in the cupboard Tony is looking through collapses, tens of them falling out past Tony and loudly clanging as metal crashes hard against tile.

 _“Shit,_ ” Peter cries, hands going to his ears as his eyes screw shut from the cacophony.

“Pete? What’re you do–”

Peter sways, accidentally putting all his weight on his right leg. His vision goes from pitch-black to blindingly white as a large burst of pain radiates up and down his body, the wound already aggravated from all the earlier movement. 

He thinks he hears Tony say something else but it sounds far away as he lists to the side, putting out a hand to catch himself and finding nothing but air. 

He falls to the ground, his legs splaying out as his injured thigh makes direct impact with the floor, the pain increasing immeasurably as the stitches rip wide open. Peter screams… 

_“Kid!”_

…and then everything goes black.

  


* * *

  


He comes to what can only be a minute or two later, a towel hastily stuffed beneath his head, upper right leg still radiating pain. 

_“Gah,”_ he moans, head lifting slightly to try to find the source.

“You with me, Pete?” Tony asks from where he’s pressing a second blood-soaked towel against Peter’s thigh. He doesn’t wait for a response as he calls out, “FRI! Where the hell are Helen and Bruce?”

FRIDAY responds but Peter isn’t listening, still trying to get his haywire senses to calm down. He groans again, teeth baring when Tony applies more pressure.

“I know it hurts Pete. But you’ve torn your stitches wide open, and I have to slow down the bleeding. Speaking of, what the hell were you thinking, getting out of bed?”

“Sorry, sorry,” is all Peter can manage to grit out, squinting up at Tony. “Sorry.”

Tony’s edges suddenly soften, the anger in his expression dying down only to be replaced with a fond look. “Okay, no apologizing from you to me for a while. I’m not ready to hear it yet, even for this dumbass decision. You may be bleeding out on my kitchen floor but you’re only hurt ‘cause you saved your teenage sister from getting kidnapped, and probably– well, a lot worse shit. So yeah– no more ‘sorry’s’, kiddo.”

All Peter really registers of Tony’s speech is that he should _not_ have apologized, which just leads to him whispering another tortured _sorry_.

Tony gently chuckles at that, and Peter gives a soft smile at the sound, his eyes closing. Even in his agony having Tony here with him is like a balm, dulling the pain just enough for him to relax. The last of the earlier adrenaline is fast fading away now, replaced with a bone-deep exhaustion. 

“Hey. _Hey._ No sleeping just yet, underoos.”

“‘M tired,” Peter mumbles.

There’s a long sigh. “FRI, what does Helen say?”

A pause. “Dr. Cho says as long as the bleeding is contained, Peter may rest. She and Dr. Banner are collecting a cart from the medbay and will be here shortly.”

The last thing Peter feels before succumbing to sleep is the back of Tony’s fingers against his temple.

“You rest now, kiddo. I gotcha.”

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](https://blondsak.tumblr.com/) is always open to fic ideas or just for general irondad screaming. Come hang out with me!


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